


Unconventional

by F0ssiliZ3d



Series: If You Could Read My Mind [2]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F0ssiliZ3d/pseuds/F0ssiliZ3d
Summary: Tyrell gets his boyfriend a present, and everything goes wrong from there.Sequel to Two Seats, Three Persons.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot, Elliot Alderson/Angela Moss, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick, Joanna Wellick/Tyrell Wellick, Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Series: If You Could Read My Mind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689403
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	Unconventional

**Author's Note:**

> Heh, it's been two years and here's a continuation of that fic you forgot about. Just call me Sam Esmail I guess.

Tyrell had never 'broken-up' with someone. Even as his ties with Joanna slowly loosened, it was hardly a break-up. Their relationship hadn't been the conventional sort to begin with. They had a near-sexless marriage, finding lovers elsewhere. While Mr Robot liked to lecture him about how marriage is a prison, Tyrell and Joanna agreed it represented them as what they truly were: Partners. Friends. Allies.

They were still married, even though Tyrell had begun spending more time at his own apartment rather than their house. Other than that, their dynamic had hardly changed.

Not a break-up. An evolution. For what was, admittedly, an unconventional relationship.

The reason for this change was currently sat on his couch, laptop open on his lap. "You should really look into your hiring department." Elliot Alderson said, fingers moving fast over the keyboard. "This is the third person in the last month selling customer data."

"Are you staying for dinner?" Tyrell called from the kitchen.

"I don't know. I guess so."

Elliot could be dismissive when he was studying one of his marks. Tyrell found it endearing how restless he became, his sharp, unwavering focus, and couldn't help but smile as he reached for the glass salt-shaker on the shelf. As he went to sprinkle salt into the pan of water, the shaker slipped from his hand and hit the floor, smashing into pieces and sending broken glass and salt everywhere. In his crib, his one-year old son woke and started to cry.

"You okay?" Elliot called.

"Yes!"

"Your, uh, kid is crying..." Tyrell was crouched, cleaning the mess, but he could hear Elliot moving. "How do I make him stop?"

"Try rocking him."

"Um. Quiet, please?"

The baby cried louder.

Tyrell bit back his laugh. "I'll be there in a minute." He took a little longer to sweep up the glass than necessary, letting Elliot struggle, before he stood and cleared the mess into the trashcan. He quickly washed his hands and dried them.

As he crossed into the lounge, his son's cries quietened. Elliot didn't have the look of alarm Tyrell was expecting. He looked at ease.

"There you go, ya little tyke." He grinned, showing his teeth. Not like Elliot at all. His son babbled as Mr Robot tickled him. He glanced at Tyrell, who knew he was smiling fondly in the way that made Mr Robot scoff and roll his eyes. "...What?"

"Elliot was trying to finish some work."

Mr Robot glanced at the laptop abandoned on the couch. "Yeah well, I was answering a cry for help."

"Elliot's?"

"Who else? Kiddo is hopeless. Ah! There -" he jabbed a finger at Tyrell, "I see that grin. Knock it off."

"You're so cute when you father him."

" 'Cute'?" He scoffed, affronted, "Listen. He just happened to be in my arms when I got here. Don't read into it."

Smirking, Tyrell walked closer. "I meant _Elliot."_

"Whatever. I'm just..." Mr Robot lowered the baby back into the crib and faced Tyrell. "...eliminating a source of stress from the environment. Quit looking like that, you Swedish sack of..." he glanced at the crib, "...potatoes. You know what? I'm not fighting in front of the kid." he leaned in, curling his lips, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

Tyrell hummed, closing the distance so their noses brushed, "Let's."

Those half-lidded eyes went wide. Had he surprised him? A hitch in that otherwise confident, cold facade and Tyrell couldn't resist. Grasping Mr Robot's face in his hands, he swooped down for a kiss. It was the messiest of their kisses, and oh how long it had been since the last. It warmed him like a hot cinder. It was difficult, sometimes, watching a body he craved but never being sure when to touch. Mr Robot grunted, hands coming to hold Tyrell's arms as if to pry him off...

But he didn't. The grip went lax. Hands slid up his arms to cling to Tyrell's shoulders, and Tyrell shifted his hold to accommodate, gripping him by the waist instead. The mouth against his parted, gasping, and Tyrell relished the feeling.

It wasn't enough. If there was one thing Tyrell had learnt since their relationship began, it was that their time together was fleeting and unpredictable. The pain of being parted, even if he saw the same face every day, was almost unbearable. He just wanted to feel close to this man. Any and every part of him. Tyrell lifted the other man's hoodie and shirt, sliding his hand onto hot, soft skin.

With a sharp intake, those perfect lips were gone. Hands pressed on Tyrell's chest. "Whoa there, cowboy."

Tyrell immediately stepped back, studying his partner's face. Had there been a switch? Or, worse, had he triggered him?

"Still me." Mr Robot cleared his throat and put some space between them. "Wow. You've, uh, certainly got some enthusiasm. Looking to consummate the old relationship, huh?"

Tyrell, somehow, flushed harder than he already was. "It _has_ been nearly twelve months."

Desperate. He wasn't desperate. Maybe a little frustrated, but definitely not desperate. He knew how to be patient. How to be _tactful._ It was what won him this man’s affection in the first place.

"Haven't been counting." Mr Robot rubbed his nose and headed towards the kitchen. "You got anything to eat? I'm starved."

Tyrell stayed where he was. His heart was pumping and his desire clung to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying he could cool down with the power of will. "I need a minute."

"Well hurry up before I eat all the fika!"

"What? No. That's... that's not how you use that word."

Mr Robot ducked his head out of the fridge and grinned, "Nothing like a little cultural insensitivity to kill a boner."

"I hate you."

A pointed glance at his crotch. "Tell that to your little friend."

* * *

Dinner was a marinated salmon and dill potatoes. Tyrell couldn't help his smug smile at the loud, somewhat lewd, noises Mr. Robot made as he ate, even if his cooking skills meant he had to tolerate a myriad of "Swedish Chef" jokes.

Mr Robot wiped sauce off his plate with his thumb. Just as he placed his thumb between his lips, his eyes narrowed, and his brow creased. "Yeah, right. ...Elliot just said he can't believe I'd willingly eat something that’s not popcorn. I'll have you know I have a very sophisticated palate."

"I see his point."

Mr Robot gawped, "Is that any way to treat your dinner guest?"

It wasn't the most perfect lead-in, but Tyrell would be damned if he didn't seize the opportunity. "Perhaps I have something that can make up for it."

Mr Robot raised his eyebrows, "Oh?"

Smirking, Tyrell stood, crossing the lounge into his bedroom, where he'd left the gift on his bedside cabinet. That is, a small white box with blue ribbon. He paused for a moment, holding the box in his hands, feeling bubbly with excitement and nerves. He hadn't felt like this since...since he got those earrings for Joanna. That hadn't been conventional either. Not many women ask their dates to fuck people and bring them their belongings. Eventually, that led to them tallying conquests. Before Elliot came along. Another life.

Steeling himself, Tyrell went back into the kitchen and sat down opposite Mr Robot again. He placed the box between them. "I know you're not a man to be bought, but I thought you'd like this"

Looking at him suspiciously, Mr Robot picked up the box and gave it a cautious shake. "What is this?"

"Remember that man we passed when we were walking last Saturday?"

"Not really." Mr Robot pulled the ribbon off and opened the box. He went still.

"There was a man with a watch and you pointed to it and said you wanted it." Inside the box was the very same limited-edition _Back To The Future_ wrist-watch. Tyrell couldn't help his excited smile. "Of course he was a little hesitant, but I soon convinced him to part ways with it. What do you think?"

He looked up, but his partner wasn't looking back. His gaze was fixed on a point over Tyrell's shoulder, lazy and unfocused. "Ah, shit. I - Um..."

Tyrell reached over and interlocked their fingers.

"Can you stop shouting?" And then: "Sorry. Sorry...."

Assuming that was for him, Tyrell stroked his boyfriend's hand with his thumb. "It's okay. You're at my apartment. It's just us here."

After a several rapid blinks, focus slipped back into those smoky blue eyes.

"I'll get you some water." Tyrell squeezed the hand he was holding before he let go. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, he quietly got a glass and filled it at the sink. This happened sometimes when they ate together in the executive lounge at E-Corp. They always sat at a table in the corner where the other execs couldn't see so Elliot wouldn't be embarrassed by his switches. Usually, they weren't so...overt. This looked like a struggle.

"Thanks." he took a sip, "What happened? I feel like I just had a hard reboot."

"I'm not sure. Mr Robot and I were just having dinner, and I gave you that watch."

"What watch?" he glanced down. "Oh."

He smiled with his lips together, a soft, fond curve. An Elliot smile.

* * *

Elliot went back to the couch to work for about an hour before he declared he couldn't concentrate at Tyrell's apartment and packed up to go home. Tyrell hoped he wouldn't be spending tonight alone and it was with some melancholy that he readied a bottle of formula for his son's nightly feed. Here he was - married, living alone, and dating a man who shared a body.

Somehow, his relationships ended up unconventional without him trying. Maybe that was a good thing. Tyrell could endure whatever hardships came about. He was built for this. Tonight was another victory.

That thought carried Tyrell through a peaceful sleep and stayed with him when he woke the next morning. That thought was with him when he saw an unread message on his phone. That thought, and any other thoughts that may have followed, shattered the moment he read the message.

**_I'm breaking up with you._ **

**_\- R_ **

* * *

Tyrell buzzed the doorbell outside Elliot's apartment for the sixth time. No answer. He hadn't responded to any texts or calls. There was more than one person in that body! How was it he was still being ignored?!

"Elliot!" he shouted at the building, hoping Elliot or whoever would get annoyed and come out. "I just want to talk!"

"Can I help you?"

Tyrell turned. A brown-haired girl stood at the bottom of the steps to the apartment building.

"I'm looking for..." _looking for my ex?_ No one reacted well to that statement. Worse, that was admitting defeat. It couldn't really be over without an explanation. Hadn't things been going well? More than well. Perfect even. He didn't understand. Had he done something? If he had, he could fix it.

"For Elliot? _Yeah_. Everyone in the neighbourhood got that." she pushed her star-shaped sunglasses onto her head, "Join the club, bucko."

 _She talks like Mr. Robot._ A new girlfriend? His replacement? He felt a jab in his chest and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "When did you last see him?"

"Last weekend. You?"

"Last night."

She narrowed her eyes, "Huh. 'Kay, well, too bad we couldn't help each other." She turned on her heel to leave.

"Wait. If you see him before Monday, tell him Tyrell needs to see him."

Her eyebrows rose. "Sure. Later dude."

Monday. Another day away. Elliot couldn't avoid work, and that meant he couldn't avoid him.

* * *

Elliot avoided work.

Tyrell didn't know why he was surprised.

* * *

"Miss Moss, if you have a moment." Tyrell tried not to show how awkward he felt standing in the doorway to Angela's office. His jealousy of her and Elliot's close bond had waned over the months, but they weren't exactly friends. They were colleagues, in every sense of it. He tried to ignore the feeling, finding solace in how much smaller her office was than his.

Angela glanced up from her desk, "I'm sorry, I really am quite busy."

Judging by her passive-aggressive tone, she knew exactly why he wanted to see her. "Then I'll make this brief." he kicked the door shut and walked to her desk. "I haven't seen Mr Alderson in work for the last three days. He isn't answering my calls or texts. I'm growing concerned."

"Oh really." Angela leaned back, her calm expression only fuelling Tyrell's anger. "I believe he broke up with you, Mr Wellick. He isn't your concern anymore. And your insistence goes far beyond a healthy employer-employee relationship don't you think?"

So they had spoken. Did she know what happened? Did she know where he had gone wrong, when his failure was invisible to him? He tried to think of a way out of this. When he first met Angela, he hadn't known how unhesitating she was with her power. He didn't want to underestimate her again.

"As your superior manager, I think I have a right to know where one of our employees have gone. It doesn't look good for the company, or him, to have been marked as AWOL."

"You know what else doesn't look good?" Angela said with a smile, "Tracking software installed into every employees’ computer."

That again? Tyrell sighed.

Angela stood, picking up her mug from her desk and walking towards the door. "I warned you what would happen if you hurt him. I have the power to end your career and the only reason I haven't is because he asked me not to. You cannot hurt people like him. You broke your word -"

"I haven't done anything!"

His outburst caused her to flinch. The calm left her voice. "He may have asked me to spare you, but so help me God, if you don't get out of my fucking office this second, I'll make sure you'll never step foot in yours again. Do you understand me?"

Tyrell clenched his jaw. "Perfectly."

* * *

"Back again?"

He didn't notice the brown-haired girl until he was standing in front of Elliot's apartment. She was sat on the steps, smoking, no sunglasses this time. The skies were too grey for that. A week had passed since he was last here. He hadn't even planned on coming... It just sort of happened.

"If you're looking for Elliot, he's not here." Smoke billowed from her lips as she spoke. "Looks like we're both shit out of luck."

Tyrell shifted on his feet. Maybe he should just ring Sutherland to drive him home, maybe picking up a bottle of vodka on the way so he can drown his sorrows. Joanna and his son were visiting family in Denmark, so at least he'll be alone.

"So why are you so desperate to find him?"

"It's complicated."

"Same here." She hummed, "Truer words never spoken."

Had he been right? Was she a girlfriend? This was a betrayal. Leaving him with no explanation? It wasn't fair. It was unjust. He clenched his fists, latching onto his rage and jealousy. "So he dumped you too."

"I guess. Unless you mean..." When he didn’t speak, she made a disgusted sound. "God no! That's illegal in every state."

 _Illegal in every...?_ He looked at her. Really looked at her. "...Oh."

She smiled drily and stretched her hand out towards him. She did look a lot like him. "Darlene."

Relaxing, Tyrell took her hand in his and shook it. "Tyrell Wellick." 

"I know." She took another drag and shuffled up on the step to make room for him. After a moment’s hesitation, Tyrell sat next to her, “I take it the dumping wasn’t just a metaphor.”

“No.” Tyrell took her phone out to show her the message. It was only as she was reading it he realised it might not be such a good idea. But, to his surprise, Darlene hissed with sympathy.

“Ouch. Totally uncool.”

For some reason, Tyrell felt compelled to explain what _R_ meant. Even now, he was protective of Elliot’s secret. “R means Romeo, just a little pet name I gave him.”

Darlene laughed. “Dude, don’t bother. Elliot doesn’t do pet names. I know _exactly_ who ‘R’ is and I’m not surprised he gave you the short end. My brother can be a douche-tool at least 86% of the time, but R works as an asshole full time.”

“That’s not true. He’s scared and he’s hurting and that makes him angry, but mostly he just wants to be listened to. He’s protective, loyal, attentive, funny –“

“Jesus, Stephanie Meyer! Stop before I hurl.”

Tyrell felt his cheeks go warm. “I just –“

“Worship the ground he walks on?”

“I miss him.” He felt weighted, every passing moment he was getting heavier. Now he was showing his vulnerability to a stranger. Elliot’s sister, no less. He needed to get answers or move on. He couldn’t bear to go on like this.

“Well he could definitely do with more friends. Me and him kind of...fell out after he took a job at Evil Corp."

"Evil Corp?"

"Uh yeah. The place is full of wackos."

Tyrell scowled.

"I know you work there too, wacko. So does another friend of mine. She told me to get over myself. So here I am, trying to get over myself and apologise. Pretty hard when he's never home." She dropped her cigarette and crushed it under her boot. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

"You come here every day?"

Darlene spreads her hands, "Call me a sucker, I guess."

* * *

It was a risk, but Tyrell was willing to take it. If Darlene wasn’t giving up, then neither would he. He pulled Angela Moss's address from her employee records and went round on a Saturday. He knocked on the door as politely as he could manage. Blood boiling, heart pumping... He could only hope Angela wouldn't call the cops.

The door opened.

"Oh you have got to be -" Angela tried to slam the door shut, but Tyrell used his strength to keep the door opened just a crack.

"Please, I just need to talk."

"Consider your career over."

Another voice, from inside, "Angela, wait. Let him in."

_Elliot._

"Please, Angela."

After a brief hesitation, Angela opened the door and gestured for Tyrell to go in. Her apartment reminded Tyrell of his old house, open-plan and bright. Elliot was sat at the table, avoiding his eyes.

"Sit down." Angela said, more command than request, and Tyrell took the seat opposite Elliot on the end of the table. Angela sat next to Elliot and covered his arm with her hand. Tyrell's gut pinched. He had to remind himself that the person in front of him was not the same person who broke up with him. Elliot and Angela had their own relationship, and while he was never sure if they were friends or more than friends, it was something Tyrell had no part in and no right to be angry at. They'd arranged this long ago.

“I’m sorry for what happened." Elliot said, "For what I did. The text, I mean.”

Angela took his hand, “Elliot, this isn’t your fault.”

“It’s my responsibility.” he said, “He’s done damage-control for me in the past. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t do the same for him. We’re a system. That’s how we’ve gotta operate, even if it’s shitty.”

Not the same man, indeed. Tyrell took a deep breath and let it out again. "I just want to know why."

Elliot and Angela glanced at each other, both frowning.

"I was actually hoping you could tell me." Elliot murmured, "He's not talking to me. There's a place inside, an arcade, where he likes to go and play games. Normally it's open to everyone... I mean, except the littles because Mr Robot swears when he loses. Anyway, I can't get in now. The door is locked. The only one who can get in is The Mother, but I can't talk to her. I only knew she could get in because the little told me." He rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"It's not that." Hidden under the table, Tyrell dug his fingernails into his knees, "You want to take responsibility and I appreciate that... but I just need to understand what I did wrong so I...so I can move on."

Elliot looked away.

"I talked to him." Angela said, softly. She'd calmed down a little. "It must have been the day after your break-up. He asked me not to expose your exploits. He said, and I quote, 'Despite what happened, I'm not going to come between him and Elliot taking down shitheads together.' When I asked why you broke up, he wouldn't say. He was angry."

"Angry?"

Angela nodded.

"I thought maybe you had a fight or something." Elliot glanced at Tyrell again.

"We didn't."

Had he missed something?

"This isn't exactly an easy situation to manage." Angela said, clasping her hands, "Maybe he's trying to make things easier."

"That wasn't his decision to make." Elliot said, "We were doing just fine."

"I agree."

"So do I." Angela must have known that her saying that would surprise Tyrell, because she was looking at him when she said it. She reached over and put her hand gently on the crook of his arm, just for a second so it wouldn't be awkward. "It _was_ working."

Tyrell breathed in, hugging his arms closer to him. He didn't want to be here anymore. He slowly pushed the chair back and stood. "I should really be going. By the way, your sister is camping outside your apartment. I suggest you go see her, since I won't be there anymore to keep her company."

"Tyrell." Elliot looked at him with imploring eyes, "I promise I'll figure this out."

* * *

With the underbelly of his spoon, Tyrell painted mashed potato in thick, clumpy smears along the edge of his plate, mixing it with gravy and the pieces of beef from his stew until it became a disgusting, inedible mess. His cheek rested on his other hand and, without moving his head, he glanced at the empty seat opposite him. Tears welled in his eyes and he hastily scrubbed them on his sleeves. Pain had seeped into every fibre of him. He could never get used to this.

Terry Colby paused next to his table, "This seat taken?"

"As a matter of fact, it is."

Terry just shrugged and joined another table instead. Not so long ago Tyrell would have jumped to be at the same table as Colby, right-hand man to the CEO of E-Corp. What a mess he had become. Joanna would laugh once she found out. Perhaps, once she returned from her trip, he'd move back in with her and try to pretend this whole ordeal never happened.

Looking back at his plate, at the mess he'd made, he set it aside and forced himself to take a sip of water. He was pathetic.

He wasn't sure how long he was staring at his 'dinner' before he noticed the man-shaped shadow pausing by his place. He looked up and his heart jolted at the sight of Elliot, both excited and very afraid.

"Elliot!" He stood and, after an awkward pause, he gestured to a seat, "Please." _Please let's just have dinner like we used to._

"No... I can't." He inched away, his gaze darting around for an escape. Tyrell hated it when he looked like that. "I just came to tell you that I talked to him."

Tyrell's eyes widened. "And?"

"He said you fucked someone else."

* * *

He denied it. Of course he had. _It wasn't true._ Why would Mr Robot say something like that? When he asked Elliot, he looked even more uncomfortable. He babbled something about how Mr Robot told lies when he didn't want to confront something, and then he excused himself and rushed away.

Elliot must think it's true, and that just made everything worse.

* * *

He woke to the smell of cigarettes. His neck, slung over the back of his couch, was aching. He'd fallen asleep in the lounge, though he didn't find that surprising since he hadn't been sleeping at night since the break-up. He was surprised Joanna trusted him to take care of their son again for their timeshare. He hadn't wanted the responsibility, at least not for a while until he was ready. She told him he was strong. He didn't feel it. He could barely look after himself. Wincing, Tyrell rolled his head up and looked around the room.

Elliot was sat at the dinning table, legs crossed at his thighs, smudging a cigarette butt into a saucer. Sitting there after _months_ like nothing had happened.

"I thought we agreed no smoking in the house." Tyrell snapped. Suddenly, he wanted to kick him out. How could he think to just walk back in here, without his permission, after causing him so much pain? Then he remembered, one, that he didn't know which part of Elliot he was looking at now and, two, he couldn't bare to kick him out no matter who it was.

Elliot looked at him with a stern, assessing stare, and said nothing.

Tyrell narrowed his eyes. Was this Mr Robot? There was something different, something unfamiliar, but he couldn't be sure this wasn't Mr Robot playing a trick on him. "...Have we met?"

"No."

That explained it. Slowly, Tyrell stood and approached the table. When there was no protest, he sat down in the chair opposite and held out his hand, "Tyrell Wellick."

The other person ignored his offered hand, instead he delicately brought the cigarette to his lips. Did all of Elliot's alters smoke? This one smoked differently. Elegantly. Mr Robot smoked to make a statement, smacking his lips and exaggerating the pleasure it brought him. Elliot smoked thoughtfully, distantly, like he got lost in it.

After a moment, Tyrell lowered his hand, feeling stung. "I would appreciate it if you didn't smoke in front of my son."

"I suppose that's acceptable." With a glance at the crib, he put out his cigarette. He switched the cross of his thighs, frowned, and switched them back. He still didn't look comfortable. "It's difficult sometimes. The smoking helps. God knows the boys won't shut up if they knew I was here."

Tyrell furrows his brow. _The boys._ The way he'd said that reminded him of Joanna.

In fact, a lot about him reminded him of Joanna.

"You're a woman." He blurted. "I mean, that is...You're the Mother?"

He - _she -_ tutted. "Obviously."

"Why are you here?"

"I was curious. I can't say I expected you to be like this." She shifted again. Oh, but _of course_ she was fidgeting!

"Excuse me a moment." He stood and went to the bedroom. Under the bed, he kept some of Joanna's things. They were in the process of selling their old house and Joanna had asked him to hold onto them. He carried a box of her make-up to the table, standing there awkwardly while the Mother scrutinised him. Why is it that women always gave him that look? "I have...I don't know if it'll help..."

He put the box down and opened it.

She stared at its contents for a long moment. Then she huffed, "Alright."

"...excuse me?"

"You're good enough."

"...thank you? I think." Clearing his throat, he gestured to the bedroom, "The en-suite is through there if you need a mirror."

With a small smile, she stood and tucked the box under her arm before disappearing into the en-suite. Tyrell decided to give her space. She mustn't have much chance to explore her femininity, especially since Elliot and Mr Robot fronted so often.

About an hour later, there was a shout.

"WHY THE FUCK AM I WEARING A DRESS?!"

* * *

"I'm gonna kill her." Face inches from the mirror, Mr Robot aggressively scrubbed the make-up off his face. He'd changed back into Elliot's hoodie, his shirt half-tucked in and half-loose from his jeans.

Tyrell stood in the doorway to the small en-suite, resting his back against the door frame with his arms folded. This was it. The opportunity he'd waited for. The Mother had given it to him and he was grateful to her for that. "If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just said."

He froze. Those eyes, which in this light looked closer to hazel than blue, bored into him, a glare so weighted Tyrell thought the mirror would crack. "Fuck you."

Shutting off the water, he grabbed a towel and dragged it down his face, smearing it with the traces of make-up he'd missed. It could have been an accident, if he wasn't making such a show of it, grinning snidely at Tyrell the whole time.

He pursed his lips. "Can we at least talk now?"

"What's there to talk about? I thought the message was pretty clear." He tossed the towel at Tyrell as he pushed past him into the bedroom and marched out into the lounge. Tyrell followed, jaw tight. "We had a good run, all things considered, but now it's time to move on."

"But _why?"_

"Do you seriously have to ask that? You should be taking this as an opportunity to date someone who, oh I don't know, _has their own body._ " He'd reached the door now and was opening it. Tyrell sprinted, managing to flatten his palm against the door and slam it shut again.

"Cut the bullshit. That was _never_ an issue and you know it." He looked down where he bracketed him against the door, watched his ears turn pink. He swallowed, thinking how their bodies were flush together. He kept his hand firm on the door. He wouldn't let him go, not until he had some answers. He deserved that much. 

Mr Robot raised his brow, glancing pointedly at the hand blocking his escape. "What, are you just gonna imprison me here?"

"Why did you tell Elliot I fucked someone else?!" The words burst from him, loud and agonised, and over in the crib his son startled and began wailing, as if he was expressing the pain Tyrell had clung to for weeks.

And Mr Robot - his eyes went straight to that child. He swallowed.

Tyrell was torn. His son was crying, but if he moved Mr Robot would just leave and then it was all truly over. They were over. Luckily, he didn't have to make that choice. With an indignant huff, Mr Robot stepped away from the door and walked to the crib. He leaned over and pulled the baby into his arms, rocking him carefully despite how violently he'd raged just seconds before. But it was still him.

When the baby was calm again, Mr Robot sighed. "Alright. Fine! Let’s take this to the bedroom."

Tyrell's blood was humming. His hands shook as they entered the room and he closed the door behind them. Mr Robot paced, sweeping a hand through his hair. Tyrell opened his mouth to speak, not sure what he was going to say...

"Okay so maybe I shouldn't have said anything." Mr Robot spread his hands, "This should have just been between you and me. I regret that it hurt Elliot too, but I was annoyed, and I didn't know why I cared so much because I shouldn't have. I - ...Jesus Christ, can you quit standing by the door like a guard dog? I'm not going anywhere."

He couldn't move. He was too angry, too frightened, too upset. Overwhelmed. His limbs locked in place. His throat dried. He'd wanted this conversation for so long but now it was finally happening, he didn't know he could go through with it.

Dragging his hand through his hair again, Mr Robot slumped on the bed with his back to Tyrell. He bowed his head. "Just...c'mere. Please?"

It was easier, not looking at him. Less exposing. Less raw. Maybe Mr Robot thought so too. They'd bonded over their insecurities and fear of being vulnerable. Tyrell forced himself to sit on the bed with his back to his ex. His _ex._ He sobbed, "I don't understand."

"I know."

"Then explain."

"Look, with you going from your life with Joanna to this - to _me -_ I knew there would be an adjustment period. For both of us. I wasn't exactly honest with you at the start, but I thought, with a little time, we would settle. I was more than ready to ride that rocky road with you. And we did for a while. But it doesn't change that we're on different wavelengths." He gently touches the back of his head to Tyrell's. "That I don't feel what you feel."

His worse fears were coming true. The tears he'd fought back for so long finally spilled. "You don't like me anymore?"

"No, I - No. Okay? I _do._ Like you, I mean." he pressed harder. Not to hurt, to reassure. Tyrell heard him fiddling with the strap on the watch he gave him, "But you want more than I can give you."

Tyrell turned his head just so he could see the outline of the face pressed to his. "I only want you."

He pulled away. "That's the problem."

Tyrell scowled, "Why is _that_ a problem?"

"Remember the night you gave me this watch? We were making-out. I could feel how much you wanted me, how much you wanted this body. Truth is, I don't want anybody in that way. I talk a big game, but I don't actually feel that."

"Feel...?"

"Jesus Christ, Tyrell! I'm talking about fucking!" Suddenly he was on his feet and yelling and Tyrell turned, feeling like he was in the air, trying to grab hold of something that made sense, "Overrated bullshit. I could care less about it. Which is why I thought I'd be okay with it if you got _your needs met_ somewhere else, but then _you did_ and I realised _I do_ and I was so fucking angry at you and at myself for even giving a shit and I realised that this just isn't gonna work.”

"I didn't cheat on you."

"Yeah, yeah, not cheating. Working. Playing. Whatever you and Joanna called it. Point is, I should have been cool with you having a good time but I'm not. And that ain't fair no matter how you slice it, so-"

Tyrell climbed over the bed and seized Mr Robot by the shoulders. He needed him to stop. He needed him to know he was wrong. "You’re not listening to me. I didn't fuck anybody."

He pulled out of reach, "Whatever you did -"

"Why do you think I did something?" The accusation still stung, but idea that the man he loved actually believed it hurt so much more. For someone in a DID system, that sense of betrayal must have been so damaging. No wonder he'd hidden.

Mr Robot's eyes were narrowed, his brow crinkled. He held out his wrist with the watch. "Because of this. You said you 'convinced' a guy to give it up. That's a euphemism if I've ever heard one."

"He was a little taken aback that I wanted to buy his childhood watch, yes. I convinced him. With _money._ You know, that thing you don't believe in. I _bought_ it from him. No euphemisms."

"...huh."

Tyrell pressed his hands to his face and sank down onto the bed. "I hate you."

Slowly, tentatively, Mr Robot shifted Tyrell's hands away from his face and wiped away his tears, "Tell that to your little friends." he sounded raw. "I'm sorry. I thought -" With a tiny shake of his head, he pulled back. He grasped the watch, his brow pinching. Throughout all of this, he’d worn it. He'd never stopped caring.

The mattress shook as Mr Robot sat down next to him. Their shoulders brushed. The closeness and warmth was a comfort despite the tension still sitting in the pit of Tyrell's chest. All too soon, Mr Robot stood and the warmth was gone. Tyrell snagged him by the wrist. "Wait. We're dating again, right?"

He looked bewildered. "You still want to? I mean, you don't wanna be with someone less..."

“Unconventional?”

“…difficult.” He raised his free hand in a kind of nonchalant gesture, but his nervousness was clear in his eyes and the furrow of his brow. "You know, someone who can give you time and sex and all that other crap. You're ambitious. You're never gonna be satisfied if you settle for less."

"I'm not settling for less because you're not less than anyone else. For any reason."

"And you don't care that I don't wanna..." he gestured between them, "...dip my crane in your oil well? Or the other way around?"

"I just want to feel close to you."

"Huh."

For a moment neither of them did or said anything. Tyrell gave a gentle tug on the wrist he was holding and pulled his boyfriend - _his boyfriend -_ back down to sit next to him. He was still facing uncertain, shifting eyes. Mr Robot had his hands raised and fingers spread like he didn't know what to do with them.

"Just tell me what's okay." Tyrell whispered.

Finally, the tension eased and those hands settled onto his shoulders. "It's simple really." he shrugged, grinning widely. "If the clothes come off, the underwear stays on and if you try to stick your dick in me, I'll punch you."

"I can work with that." He leaned up for a kiss, but pressure on his shoulders warned him back.

"I can't promise I won't get paranoid like that again." Mr Robot said, "This arrangement won't ever be easy."

"I'm ambitious." Tyrell said, smirking, "I'll never be satisfied if I give you up."

They kissed, firm and sure. It felt like a promise.


End file.
